


The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret

by writeivywrite



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeivywrite/pseuds/writeivywrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It took his breath away the first time he saw him. Not in the usual he’s-too-close-not-close-enough way, but in a brand new way that made him stop and stare.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Or the one where Harry has a thing for Zayn dressed as a woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret

In the end it’s the lipstick that does it for him. Not the skirt or even the long hair, but the promise of that lipstick leaving sticky bruises on his neck and between his thighs. And it’s not that Harry misses it, it’s that it’s so different from what he’s used to, from the scratch of Zayn’s jaw or having to contend with shoelaces and belts and jeans that shed loose change and cigarette packets as they fall to the floor. And what he finds when he reaches under Zayn’s skirt isn’t what he usually finds when he reaches under skirt, but it’s not entirely unpleasant, either. Far from it, in fact.

He’s depraved, apparently. That’s what Zayn keeps telling him, usually followed by a swift elbow and a smile he can’t hide, especially when it’s highlighted in red lipstick. But Harry Styles is only human and he never feels it more than when he’s around Zayn. Zayn makes him aware of a lot of things, actually, like his breath (or absence thereof) and his tattletale heart and each of the fine hairs on his arms that bristle whenever he’s close, as though his body is trying to warn him. Of what Harry isn’t sure, but as soon as Zayn steps into whatever space his body deems is too close, up they go and Harry could probably count each one if he wasn’t so distracted by the nearness of him. And he is distracted by him – constantly – by the curve of his mouth and the curl of his eyelashes and his eyes that are kind of brown but not and his smile that’s kind of sweet but not. So underscore each of those things with make up and well, he’s only human.

It took his breath away the first time he saw him. Not in the usual he’s-too-close-not-close-enough way, but in a brand new way that made him stop and stare. And it’s moments like that, when his heart is beating in a completely different way, as though it’s a chord he didn’t know he could play, when it’s been three years and Harry knows him so well, knows his skin and scars, the ones he didn’t choose and the ones he asked to have inked to him, that he’s sure there’s nothing more Zayn Malik can do to surprise him. Then he walks out of a trailer dressed as a woman.

Harry tried not to grope his fake breasts like the other lads, but he might have let his hand linger on Zayn’s hip for a moment too long or rubbed one of the pleats in his white skirt between his finger and thumb. It earned him an elbow in the stomach each time and a deep and hopelessly Bradford _Ger off_ that only made the tops of Harry’s ears burn more as it served to remind him that under it all, under the too-red mouth and too-blonde hair was Zayn. Zayn who held him down and fucked him last night until he was aching and useless then nicked his fried egg sandwich at breakfast this morning.

As soon as his scene is done, Harry pulls him around the side of a trailer. Zayn puts up a fight and asks what will happen if someone comes around the corner, but it isn’t half as convincing when he’s undoing Harry’s belt. Then Zayn’s mouth is on his and that’s all Harry’s been thinking about since he saw him step out of that trailer two long hours ago. It’s enough to stop him in his tracks, to still his hands and his curious fingers as he focuses on kissing Zayn as deeply and as greedily as he can.

At first it’s strange, Zayn’s lips sticky, but then under all the softness – hairspray and powder and sweet, sweet perfume he knows Zayn isn’t wearing, but he can still smell – Harry feels the familiar edge of his tongue and his hand is under his skirt before he can tell himself to check if anyone's coming.

‘I hope you’re wearing red knickers, Mr Malik.’ Harry smirks, teeth tugging at Zayn’s bottom lip. Zayn laughs when Harry tries to sneak a look in that way he always does when Harry does stuff like that, but it’s lighter somehow – girlier – then it isn’t as Harry slips his hand under the elastic of his underwear and wraps his fingers around him. That’s more familiar, the heat of him, the tightness, the way Zayn’s hips stutter when Harry wets his thumb then his palm and starts stroking.

They fall against the trailer, shoes slipping in the muddy grass, and when Zayn holds onto Harry’s shoulders, nails digging in, Harry isn’t saying it’s helpless, but it kind of is, and the look on Zayn’s face is enough to make him bite down on his bottom lip. Zayn must see him do it, because he lifts his chin and when their mouths catch, Harry almost pulls away because as much as he loves how it feels, the smooth slide of his lipstick, he doesn’t want to waste it. But he can’t help it, his tongue darting back into Zayn’s mouth and swallowing his gasp as he tugs on Zayn so hard he pulls him towards him, their chests colliding, knocking the air out of both of them. And when Harry does it again it’s enough to make Zayn come, sudden and delighted, over Harry’s knuckles.

Harry doesn’t give him a chance to catch his breath, though. ‘Suck me,’ he pants against Zayn’s mouth and he obliges, giving Harry’s bottom lip one last, long lick before biting his jaw then his neck, tongue flat against his pulse. Harry lifts his t-shirt with both hands and Zayn takes the hint, his mouth sweeping along his collarbones in turn before pressing a kiss to the patch of skin between the two birds tattooed under them. Harry laughs when he feels Zayn’s smile before he moves lower, and he can’t wait to see it later, the red lips on his chest that will match Zayn’s. But then Zayn is kissing down his chest to his stomach and that isn’t as funny as Harry can feel him leaving a trail of red smudges like breadcrumbs, before stopping to finish unbuckling his belt.

When Harry feels that first lick of his tongue, he can’t help the way his hips thrust forward. It knocks Zayn’s head against the trailer and Harry whimpers an apology as he puts his hands behind Zayn’s head because he knows he’ll do it again. And sure enough he does, when Zayn takes him in and sucks hard, his mouth warm and wet and oh so familiar.

‘Let me,’ Harry breathes and Zayn does, his hands curling around the backs of Harry’s thighs as Harry starts fucking his mouth. Harry’s forehead falls against the trailer, his breath leaving him in a stutter of interrupted gasps as he deepthroats him, the tip of Zayn’s nose nestling into his pubic hair. He tells himself to go easy and draws his hips back, but then he imagines the ring of red lipstick he’ll find around the base of his cock later and thrusts forward again. Zayn gags and Harry pulls back, muttering another breathless apology, but Zayn moves his hands up to his ass and guides Harry back into his mouth. With that Harry is coming, his whole body shaking as he looks down and sees blonde hair. He tries to ease back, but Zayn doesn’t let him and when Harry realises that he’s swallowing he closes his eyes and presses cheek to the trailer as his body racks.

That should be enough, but when Harry pulls Zayn to his feet, Zayn’s eyes are half-closed and his lipstick ruined and Harry kisses him again, breathless and sloppy, hands pulling at hair that’s too long. It feels strange – cheap – like doll’s hair, and Harry tugs it away, throwing the wig at their feet as his hands find Zayn’s real hair, short and sweaty under his fingers.

‘Come on,’ Harry says, taking Zayn’s hand and leading him around the side of the trailer.

‘Where?’ Zayn asks, going to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Harry stops him, then looks both ways to see if anyone is coming before tugging him into the trailer. He has no idea who it belongs to, but it’s empty and the door has lock so for the next few minutes it’s theirs.

‘Condom,’ Harry tells him, taking his wallet out of his back pocket and tossing it at Zayn as he goes into the kitchenette and starts opening the cupboards. He finds a small bottle of vegetable oil and kisses it as Zayn plucks the condom out of his wallet and holds it up with filthy smile. And it is filthy – _obscene_ , really – lipstick smeared around his mouth and his black hair ruined. Harry wants to take a picture of him but then he’s kissing him again and he can’t think of anything but that, his tongue flicking into Zayn’s mouth as he presses the condom into Harry’s palm.

‘Gonna fuck you,’ Harry pants against his mouth, stopping to lick away a smudge of lipstick. ‘You gonna let me fuck you in that pretty dress?’ Zayn nods, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck as he walks them over to the other end of the trailer. Harry nudges Zayn against the table with his hip. ‘Get on here and open your legs.’

Zayn does as he’s told as Harry puts the bottle of oil down and tries to get into the condom packet. If he was worried about getting hard again then seeing Zayn take off his (sadly practical) black underwear assures him that he won’t have a problem. And even if he did, Zayn tugs down his still open jeans and fists him until Harry’s so close to coming again that he has to tell him to stop.

‘Lie back,’ Harry says, rolling on the condom and reaching for the oil. Zayn does and Harry pours some of it on his fingers, spilling most of it over his boots and the carpet. He has no idea if it will work, but when he sees Zayn lie on the table, he’s so past caring that he almost trips in his haste to get his hand under his skirt.

As soon as he starts easing his finger into him, Zayn’s eyelids shiver shut and it’s so fucking beautiful, even in the dim light of the trailer, Zayn’s face sweaty and bruised with make up, that Harry holds his finger there for a moment so he can appreciate it. Then he pushes in deeper and Zayn’s jaw falls open so that Harry can see the pink of his tongue and that’s so beautiful as well that he pulls his hand back just to see what Zayn will do next. His body half twists and Harry isn’t sure if that's because he wants him to stop or because he doesn’t want him to, so he does it again – with two fingers this time – and Zayn’s back arches off the table.

‘Like that?’ Harry asks, leaning over him, his other hand pressed to the table next to Zayn’s head.

Zayn licks his lips, but doesn’t open his eyes. ‘Like that.’

Harry scissors his fingers open slowly and Zayn gasps, the muscles in his thighs shivering suddenly as Harry closes his fingers then does it again.

‘Like that?’ Harry asks, turning his hand and easing them in a little deeper. And he's trying to go slow because he knows he isn't used to it but it feels so good. So fucking good.

Zayn nods. ‘Like that.’

‘You want me to fuck you like this?’ Harry asks, moving his fingers in and out of him.

‘Like that.’

‘When?’

‘Now.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah.’ Zayn opens his eyes and tilts his head to look at him under his sticky black eyelashes. ‘Please.’

Harry leans down and presses a kiss to his mouth then pulls his hand back. Zayn sighs when he does, turning a finger idly in his hair as Harry reaches for the oil again. Zayn must hear him flip the plastic lid because he opens his eyes, licking his lips as he watches Harry stroke his erection.

‘Lift your knees,’ Harry tells him, but as he does, his skirt lifts and Harry tugs it back down with a wink. ‘A little modesty, please, Mr Malik.’

Zayn laughs, but it softens into a gasp as Harry eases into him. His eyelids fall shut and when Harry sees the pink of his tongue again, he can’t help but fist his hands in Zayn's skirt and push in a little deeper, so deep that he winces.

‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asks, hips stilling as Zayn’s hands grab at the edge of the table.

‘Don’t.’ He tilts his head back so his chin is pointed to the ceiling of the trailer to expose the long line of his neck. ‘Don’t stop.’

‘I can’t,’ Harry pants, every part of him suddenly weak as he looks down at the skirt around Zayn’s waist covering everything so he can’t see anything, just feel him, hot and tight around him. ‘I fucking can’t.’

‘Don’t, Harry. Please.’

He can’t, not when Zayn begs like that. So he draws his hips back and thrusts into him again and again until it gets easier and sweatier and blurrier, Harry’s hands under Zayn’s knees, hooking them on his hips as he leans in and slams into him so suddenly, Zayn reaches up to grab the front of Harry’s t-shirt. And he doesn’t know what he’s doing, lost in the heat of it, in the taste of lipstick around his mouth and the smell of Zayn’s skin sweating powder and body glitter. So Harry pushes up his jumper trying to find something he knows, kissing his flat stomach and licking his tattoos as he fucks into him again. But he still feels adrift, like a stray red balloon straying up, up, until Zayn reaches for his hand and when their palms touch, he finds his way back.

**Author's Note:**

> Written in haste for a tumblr anon so apologies for any mistakes. I hope you enjoy it, though, and if you like it enough to leave a comment/kudos then thank you! xx
> 
> ETA: Given recent video-related events, I feel the need to point out that when I wrote this I was working from [this](http://25.media.tumblr.com/f12fcf0cb0cb0b4ce8f6849539c37442/tumblr_mq5emls1sY1spt54ro1_400.jpg). This would have been a very different story if I'd known that Zayn would look like [this](http://media.tumblr.com/dcfed4cdb89beac54c42dfcb161a4dc6/tumblr_inline_mqdulufgWQ1rvlsw9.jpg)! *feels faint*


End file.
